


Oh, Fishmonger

by FrozenHearts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Bets & Wagers, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gambling, Gen, Gwent (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Mentioned Vesemir, Mentioned Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Protectiveness, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Video Game Mechanics, Witcher Contracts, protective Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenHearts/pseuds/FrozenHearts
Summary: Geralt didn't expect to be in White Orchard the same time as Jaskier- there had been reports of a group of thugs terrorizing the village, and Geralt was hired to take care of the problem.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 575
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY





	Oh, Fishmonger

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I'm not used to writing rated m stuff i usually write anywhere between g to t on this site
> 
> This is a mix of the books, games and tv show, but I will be leaning more towards tv show and games since I know them better than the books

Geralt didn't expect to be in White Orchard the same time as Jaskier- there had been reports of a group of thugs terrorizing the village, and Geralt was hired to take care of the problem. After dealing with the djinn and the Sylvain in Posada, Geralt had happily parted ways with the bard, happy in the blessed silence his travels provided once he no longer had Jaskier nipping at his heels like a yappy little dog. 

When Geralt reached White Orchard, he gave himself time to settle in; Vesemir was supposed to be meeting him at the inn in a few days time, and he knew the woman running the place, so there was no need to worry about finding a place to sleep. 

She had given him his key to his room, a smile on her face as they made small talk- apparently there was a bard who knew him quite well, his songs of Geralt's exploits travelling fast across the Continent. 

"Seems Jaskier's wit knows no bounds," Geralt joked, the innkeep giggling like a noblewoman hiding a smile behind her fan.

"Dunno- folks have taken to calling him 'Dandelion' now," she said.

Geralt snorted, "And I'm the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow."

"No, really!" the innkeep insisted, "Suits him well, I think- he's a very pretty lad, all sussed up in his bright blue trousers-"

So Geralt allowed her to regale him with tales of the bard he had somewhat come to know- how he performed for Queen Calanthe's court a second time (Geralt could fondly remember saving Jaskier from getting his ass kicked the first time they were there), how a string of admirers seemed to follow him everywhere he went; it was nice, seeing how Jaskier had managed to flourish in their time apart.

He was pulled from his thoughts as the innkeep made a small noise, a quiet "Oh, dear," that any normal man would have missed. Frowning, Geralt stole a glance over his shoulder as the door of the inn was thrown wide open and a ragamuffin group strode in, all barking and snarling like dogs as they laughed and jeered amongst themselves. He was aware, just then, of the twin swords on his back: there were only four thugs, nothing he couldn't handle, really.

So of course things had to go batshit when music began to play from the corner of the tavern, and of course that music had to be Jaskier's because no one else had a voice so sweet, if Geralt was being honest. Whipping around to see, Geralt locked eyes with his friend, who seemed to perk up at the sight of him. Brown hair was windswept across his forehead, and he wore what was probably the gaudiest color of blue Geralt had ever seen but Jaskier seemed to make it work. The bard beamed, nodding a greeting as he began to strum his lute.

"When a humble bard, graced a ride-along..." he began, the tavern soon following suit until Geralt stood awkwardly with his fists clenched near the innkeeper. 

"I didn't think they would come tonight," the innkeep offered by way of an apology, the worry evident on her face as she pointed out one of the thugs having caught Jaskier's attention.

Ugh.

"Go about business as usual," Geralt warned the woman. "I have a plan."

So the woman followed suit, cheerfully offering the thugs some ale and sharing a few flirtations as Geralt leaned against the counter. Two of the thugs were swapping cards amongst each other, gold coins clattering loudly against the table whilst the third seemed content to pick at his teeth with a pick, wincing as he dug a little too deep. Geralt managed another glance towards Jaskier- he was switching songs now, enjoying the clamor from his audience as he sang an ever familiar:

"Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger, come quell your daughter's hunger....!"

The inkeeper tapped Geralt's arm subtley, "Do what you must, Witcher," she whispered hoarsely, "But you must know the leader? He's got eyes on the pretty bird."

Geralt thanked her, raising an eyebrow as he focused on the leader of the thugs. He was a decent sized man, a thin cotton shirt practically ripping at the seams on his arms and there was a nasty grin on his face, skin slightly sweaty from the heat of being packed indoors and it was as Jaskier began prancing about during his song that Geralt knew he had to make his move. Snatching a mug from the counter, Geralt ambled over to the thugs table, heaving a sigh as he plopped himself down heavily into a vacant seat.

"Couldn't help but notice," Geralt grunted with the jut of his chin, "Gwent?"

"Interested, Master Witcher?" the thug asked, a sneer graving chapped lips as he took a swig of his own ale. Pursing his lips, Geralt reached into the pocket of his trousers, rummaging around until he found them- he slapped his own deck of cards on the table, almost daring the thug to say something. 

It was quite a large deck, with cards Geralt was able to boast from all over the Continent- the Red Baron had given him a Monster Leader, Jutta from the Isles of Skellige had been forced to hand over her own deck of Northern Realm characters after being bested in a sword fight. If Geralt remembered correctly, there was even a card of Jaskier, newly printed and floating around the court of Queen Calanthe as well. 

The thug hummed excitedly, "I see..."

"You seem to have plenty of coin to spare," Geralt goaded the man, "What say you?"

A heavy silence hung in the air, sweat beading on Geralt's skin as he waited for an answer. Jaskier's crooning echoed in the tavern, and the thug seemed to be pondering something, as Jaskier continued to sing his song:

"To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn- tis naught but bad luck tooo-"

Geralt released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, acutely aware of Jaskier having come closer to the thugs table as he danced around the tavern- he was flushed from exertion, cheeks red but he didn't seem bothered as he sang, flicking brown hair out of his eyes every few stanzas. Slamming a hand on the table, the thug grinned, his teeth slightly yellowed and cracked.

"I'm in," the thug agreed, his gaze darting to Jaskier who of course had his back to the table now because nothing could ever go right for Geralt and before Geralt could do anything, the thug had reached out and swatted at Jaskier's behind, the bard jumping a foot in the air and missing a note on his lute.

Spinning on his heel, Jaskier pouted, "My good sirs, unfortunately I don't do those kinds of performances-" here he sent Geralt a saucy wink that made him want to strangle the bard, "- so you can look but please don't touch, these trousers were far too expensive- hey!"

The thug had grabbed roughly onto the front of Jaskier's pants, cupping him roughly between his legs. Geralt was thankful Jaskier had the common sense to back up, holding his lute protectively in front of his manhood.

"What did I just say!" Jaskier scoffed, then to Geralt, "Honestly, Geralt, the company you keep sometimes-"

"Shut up, Jaskier!" Geralt hissed, wincing the second the words came out of his mouth.

"Jaskier, ain't it?" the thug whistled, slimy eyes roaming Jaskier's body, "Seems like the pretty bird can fight back on his own, huh? White Wolf?"

Fuck. 

Cursing under his breath, Geralt sent a warning glare Jaskier's way, "The bard has nothing to do with this."

The thug uttered a groan, "We can't have some entertainment while we play?"

Geralt could feel Jaskier's eyes boring into him, worry burning into the spot between his shoulder blades but the witcher ignored it, spreading his cards out on the table with the crack of his knuckles and a harsh "No. The bard is no good at Gwent."

"Oh, that's just rude-" Jaskier blew a raspberry, cut off with a yelp as the second thug reached put for him.

"It's the famous Dandelion, boss," the second thug pointed out, "Maybe he can play you something."

"More like play with something," the thug cackled with his friend, beckoning Jaskier closer, "Sweet Dandelion, a voice like that you're mouth has to be just as fine-"

"Enough," Geralt barked, "Round of Gwent or no?"

"On one condition," the thug leader raises a finger, leaning sideways in his chair as if he's about to drunkenly collapse and there's a hitch in Jaskier's breath as the thug hooked his dirty fingers into the fabric of Jaskier's pants, clutching the bard's thigh as he dragged Jaskier back towards the table.

"Excuse me-!" Jaskier swatted at said hand but to no avail and Geralt forced down a growl as the thug snaked a beefy arm around Jaskier's hips- from his position, the thug was able to rest his head right against Jaskier's crotch, and he wasn't sorry at all, the absolute bastard. His hand rested firmly against Jaskier's behind, kneading a cheek as if he was baking bread.

"Geralt!" Jaskier desparately wriggled in the thug's grip, dropping his lute in surprise as the thug squeezed him. The instrument clattered noisily to the ground, and Geralt was sure he heard a few of the strings snap as it went.

"Just as soft as a lady," the thug commented, nuzzling Jaskier's leg with a hooked nose- the bard stiffened as said nose was pressed into his leg and there was a deep sniff- "Smells like a dandelion too."

Geralt grit his teeth, jaw cracking as he watched the thug play with his friend. Jaskier fumbled with dainty hands, trying to pry the heavy hand off his ass but it was no use- just as he managed to get one measly finger off him, the thug reached out wih lightning reflexes to snatch Jaskier's wrist with his free hand, bones grinding painfully in Geralt's ear. 

"Feisty bird," the thug leered and Jaskier gulped, tugging uselessly against the thug's grip and Geralt was grinding his teeth so hard he was sure Yennefer's joke about grinding down his fangs was soon to become true. 

"I-I can play another song!" Jaskier bartered, stealing a quick look at Geralt.

"How about, Witcher," the thug gave a sharp yank and Jaskier went sprawling into the thug's lap, "the bard plays with us?" 

"Told you," Geralt made an attempt to feign indifference but he knew that was out the window, "he's notoriously awful at Gwent."

"Exactly!" Jaskier chimed in, "So as much fun as this is, I should be going-"

The thug tightened his grip on Jaskier, a move that almost had Geralt flipping the table but he settled for clenching his fist instead so hard his cards were bending. The tavern was completely silent- most of the patrons, if not all, had fled, and he could hear the inn keeper moving to hide under the counter a few feet away. 

"He can be on my team," the thug jiggled his leg, bouncing Jaskier mockingly in his lap like a mother would a newborn child. His fellow bandits jeered and laughed, Jaskier's pale face stained pink with embarrassment.

Unblinking, Geralt made sure to look the thug right in the eye, mildly enjoying how the bandit squirmed uncomfortably under his golden gaze and Geralt swiped his cards up to begin shuffling them, banging the edges clean on the table. 

"I'll deal," Geralt started shifting the cards around, and Jaskier was (thankfully) quiet, spine rigid as the thug continued to manhandle him.

\------- 

The first round was eerily silent.

The only sound that could be heard was the slap of laminated paper cards against the worn oak table, as Geralt faced off against the thug in what was most likely the most intense game of his life.

If Geralt won, he could save Jaskier from whatever the thugs had planned to do to him and complete the contract in the process. It was a win-win, and Jaskier looked like he was going to pass out from humiliation as halfway through the round the thug had taken to whispering lewd things in the bard's ear.

Geralt put down an Archer card, adding a point to his already ten points. If he was counting right, the thug had only managed to gather up six points for himself. 

"You know," Geralt cleared his throat, "if you wanted to have a good time there are plenty of brothels you could go to."

The thug had the audacity to stare right at Geralt, eyes cold and cruel as he reached with his free hand to fondle Jaskier through his pants.

"And who says this ain't fun?" the thug laughed, placing down a card on his side of the board. Jaskier was biting his lip to keep from saying anything, eyes slightly glassy from unshed tears. 

"I'm sure Jaskier has better things to do, right, Jaskier?" Geralt hated the way he sounded, an air of boredom heavy in his demeanor but Jaskier was hesitant to answer, eyes flicking between Geralt and the thug before he croaked out "S-surely it can wait-"

"See? Our little Dandelion is fine," the thug cooed at the bard, "Your turn, Witcher."

Think of the contract. Think if the contract. Think of the god damned motherfucking contract-

Geralt focused on his cards rather than his friend, who was frighteningly still; the thug had gone back to bouncing him on his leg, small whimpers escaping from Jaskier's throat as the thug continued his.... ministrations. Thug numbers two through four were all sitting around the table with their weapons out, and while Geralt knew he could take them on, with Jaskier being dangled in front of him, he couldn't take the risk. 

"Boss, I'm getting bored!" whined the third thug, leaning back in his chair.

"You're an adult, entertain yourself," the leader grunted as he shuffled through his deck. 

"Gimme a go at 'im?" the third thug suggested, waggling his eyebrows in a way that made Geralt's skin crawl.

"The Witcher? You an idiot?" the second thug slapped the third upside the head. 

"No, you dumbass, I'm talking about the bard- unfair if the boss gets all the fun."

Jaskier spluttered in shock, muttering a harried "Okay, hold on-" under his breath, his voice an octave higher than Geralt was used to hearing; the leader tightened his grip on Jaskier's crotch in annoyance until the bard squealed, eyes pleading desperately for Geralt to hurry up and fucking do something. 

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek, placing his final card down- Anna de Henrietta, a leader card worth twenty points.

"Your move," Geralt hissed.

"How in the fuck did you get twenty-one fucking points?" spittle flew from the leader's mouth, white and foamy and bubbling between his teeth; drops of it landed on Jaskier's jacket, and Jaskier grimaced as the thug leaned forward against the table, eyes narrowed as he recounted. 

"If you actually paid attention rather than fiddling with a prick, you'd have noticed," Geralt deadpanned. 

The leader threw the rest of his cards down, grunting as he planted both of his hands on Jaskier's hips, grubby fingers clinging tight enough that Geralt was sure there would be bruises if Jaskier looked later. With one shove, the leader had tossed Jaskier to his fellow thugs, who took no time hollering in delight as the bard tried to pull himself free. Cackling, they quickly immobilized Jaskier with rough hands on his arms, one of them whistling at the inn keeper.

Geralt had to suppress his groaning- he forgot she was still here, despite having seen her hiding smartly under the bar. 

"Oi, lady!" the third thug yelled, "We'll be taking a room- send up some wine, will ya?"

"No, no wine needed-" Jaskier tried to protest, snapping as the thug holding onto him lifted him bodily from under his knees, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Geralt forced himself to watch as they paraded up the stairs with a pleading Jaskier in tow, until the leader was snapping his fingers in his face, "Round two, Witcher! Make it quick- don't want my boys to have all the fun!"

The inn keep walked shakily past their table, bottle of Cintran wine in hand and Geralt averted his gaze as she trembled up the stairs. 

\--------

The second round went much like the first. The thug was noisy in that he wasn't noisy at all. Focused on his hand now that there were no distractions, Geralt was having a difficult time of beating him. 

Accompanied by the other bandits laughter at Jaskier's expense, Geralt pushed himself to hurry up, throwing cards down willy-nilly and yeah, Vesemir would lecture him about losing his cool while on a job, but honestly? Fuck this and fuck the contract. 

It was when Jaskier's ear piercing scream warbled from the floor above that Geralt threw his cards down, chair scraping loudly against the floorboards as he rushed to get up, heart hammering against his ribs despite the molasses slow beat of it- he ignored the thug leader in favor of skipping every other step, boots slapping angrily as he careened down the hall, doors all shut on either side of him. 

He spotted the inn keeper who leaned frozen against the wall, a tray clattering loudly at her feet as she dropped it. 

"What room?!" Geralt demanded, and she pointed him further down the hall before scampering off.

Good. One less thing to worry about. Swords clanging against his back, Geralt stormed towards the room at the end of the hall, Jaskier's harried cries more pronounced, the thugs laughter grating on his ears and as he focused his senses, he could see the smell of the wine hanging as a red cloud in the air, and the door was emanating a nasty red color as well but Geralt ignored it in favor of banging his shoulder against the door when a quick Aard spell proved useless. 

Barging inside, sword drawn, Geralt wasted no time in slicing through one of the thugs; he was sitting in a drunken stupor, playing Jaskier's lute with dirty hands. From the corner of his eye, just as he pulled his sword from the thug's neck, he saw the other three surrounding Jaskier who lay on the floor, hands roaming his body and tugging at his clothes and it caught Geralt off guard, how small Jaskier truly was, how frail he looked in that moment, between rough hands on his wrists to the large bodies looming over him.

"Get off him." Geralt managed a throaty command, "Now."

It seemed two of the three had some common sense, jumping away from Jaskier's shivering self as if burned by fire. The third was cocky, hands firm around Jaskier's wrists as he glared at the witcher.

"Was about to sing for his supper, he was," the thug spat, making Jaskier flinch.

"Kitchen's closed," Geralt countered. 

"Geralt-" Jaskier's voice was hoarse, chest heaving as he began to panic. 

The thug looked at his friends, frowning at the body in the corner, then at the two cowering against the wall. Rolling his eyes, the thug said "You beat our boss then?"

"Had something more important to take care of," Geralt retorted, "and a contract is a contract. Get rid of you idiots and I get my coin."

The thug laughed, "And your bard? He was about to get my sausage in his pantry, if you understand me."

Geralt grimaced, sending a look towards Jaskier. He looked as if he was about to pass out, his already pale face practically ghostly. Wine stained his chin and shirt and the way his eyes darted around the room in a glassy haze.....

"Shit."

The thug cackled, "Didn't realize we gave him such a potent mix!" 

"He doesn't even know where we are," Geralt pointed out, taking a step closer, his medallion singing as he neared them. Joints creaking, Geralt knelt besides his friend, his mind screaming to just kill the thug and be done with it, to take Jaskier far away and hide him and make sure he was never hurt again but he had to be careful. Hanging from the thug's waist was a silver dagger, sharp and deadly.

If the thug managed to get the dagger before Geralt's sword reached his throat? Well, there was no telling what would happen to the bard. 

"You let him go now, never come back to this town, I won't hunt you down like the dogs you are," Geralt threatened under his breath.

The thug snorted, "Aww, does the White Wolf have a soft spot for the Dandelion?"

"My blade has a soft spot provided by your neck," Geralt shot back, "and your cock if you push me."

A heavy silence rang in Geralt's ear as he spoke, allowing the thugs to process what he said. Downstairs, he could hear the inn keeper sobbing to herself, soft cries hidden amongst jumbled words of prayer. The two thugs at the wall were inching closer to the door, boots scraping the rotted wood as they managed to slip out and into the hallway. 

He supposed he'd have to deal with them later. 

"Your friends have the right idea," Geralt kept his eyes trained on the bandit in front of him- he hadn't moved from his spot, knuckles white from straining his hold. Jaskier had stopped struggling as well- passed out, with his chin tucked into his neck he looked as if he was sleeping. 

"You don't scare me!" the thug tried, albeit half-heartedly.

"Really?" Geralt pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Witchers don't have feelings," the thug continued, "no reason why you shouldn't just go now."

Geralt furrowed his brow, "And let you rape an innocent man? That's degrading, even for your type."

Reaching over, Geralt grabbed the thug's left hand, yanking it away from his friend and he kept holding on, face cold as the thug began to whimper.

"Hey now! What are you doing-"

"This is how he probably felt," Geralt said matter-of-factly, "as your leader violated him during our lovely round of Gwent."

The thug was sweating now, but Geralt hadn't heard it yet. With the flick of his wrist, he twisted the man's hand in his own, moving to press his thumb over the bone connecting the thumb to his hand.

"And my friend," Geralt pushed and the thug howled, "probably felt as terrified as you do right now, so tell me...."

Geralt twisted the thug's wrist again, and he grinned as there was an audible crack, the thug tossing his head back to howl in pain. Scuttling away, the thug cradled his broken wrist to his chest, eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears as he stared at Geralt with new eyes- he knew too, how it must look. A man with scraggly white hair, teeth bared like fangs as he crouched over an unconscious man, gold eyes feral as he snapped his jaws at the perpetrator.

A wild, rabid wolf, he was.

".... are you still not scared?" Geralt snarled, licking his lips as he picked up his sword and the medallion sang as he moved in one swift motion to pin the man's head to the wall, leaving him to gurgle and choke on his own blood once Geralt yanked the sword free once more. He let it fall with a loud clang in a pool of blood, practically crashing to his knees as he moved towards Jaskier, who still lay on the floor. With deft fingers, Geralt ignored the bite marks and bruises on Jaskier"s skin to find the pulse point at his neck.

It was there, thankfully, but too quick in pace and thready for a normal human. 

"Hmmm..." Geralt mumbled under his breath as he looked around; wine was heavy in the air, and while most of it had been dumped on Jaskier and the floor from the looks of it, there was most likely still a trace of whatever drug they had given him. 

He found the bottle under the bed a few seconds later and wrinkled his nose at the affronting smell- sickly sweet, almost like an ambrosia of sorts, but with the smell alone, Geralt couldn't be entirely sure. Slipping the bottle into a pouch on his trousers, Geralt moved to slip a hand under Jaskier's knees, the other braced against his back before he lifted- the bard was just as light as he looked, limbs swinging like a ragdoll without the usual agency and finesse Geralt had become accustomed to. 

The inn keeper met him at the bottom of the stairs, eyes lit with horror as soon as she saw Jaskier. 

"I'll come back in a few days to clean up the mess," he promised in a soft voice. 

The woman placed a shaking hand on Jaskier's forehead, brushing back brown hair from clammy skin, very much like parent as she said, "You take care of him, Master Witcher." and pointed him towards the doctor's house in the village before locking the doors and picking up a broom. 


End file.
